Quirks

Some out there know where Intentional Gringo resides, both in the US and in his new adopted homeland. But for those who do not, please don't beat yourselves up over this lack of knowledge. In the end I do not believe that it makes much difference WHERE Intentional Gringo resides because the experiences chronicled here would no doubt be quite similar in any number of locales. Yet it would be totally inaccurate to assert that my new home is exactly the same as ANY place besides the United States. I indeed live in a place that many other gringos would consider more “civil” than some others, and one that indeed provides some subtle tones of home.

BUT, ladies and gentlemen, do not get it twisted. This place can be utterly infuriating and downright stupefying.

1.Where The Streets Have No Name – for quite some time (like 26 years to be exact) this statement meant really only one thing: the title to a pretty decent U2 song. NOW this statement has taken on a whole new meaning. Mind you, I live in a metropolis. There are upwards of 2M people that inhabit my city and the surrounding 'burbs, and it is most certainly a financial and cultural hub for not only the country but for the general geo-political region. So why in the fuck can't they put some signs on streets? I am not joking when I tell you that even in the high traffic, heavily travelled sections of town that are the homes to any number of high profile businesses and governmental offices there are ABSOLUTELY NO STREET SIGNS. I'd say 10 % of the streets I have seen have any signage at all, and those have ONE sign at some point of what could be a mile long stretch of asphalt. Every direction is given in terms of landmarks. This is fine when you have lived in this place for a while and know your way around, but for an Intentional Gringo it is little more than an opportunity to wander around with a thumb up my ass while every cabby honks at me to get in his cab because he knows I have no fucking idea where I am. When someone gives you directions for a hardware store in terms of a rubber tree across town that was felled over 50 years ago, you know that you should probably just go home and blow your brains out. And when it happens twice in two days, you die a little inside.

2.Would You Like Cheese With That? - all of those who know Intentional Gringo and love him very much know that Intentional Gringo loves HIM some cheese. Multiple cheeses actually, in many lactose-erotic combinations. So imagine the chagrin of our intrepid I.G. when, upon ducking his head into a large supermarket in his home city, picked up a 13. oz block of Kraft Sharp Cheddar Cheese and nearly had a stroke. For this cheese was, in terms of US dollars, somewhere in the neighborhood of $11.30. Fresh mozzarella, something that I.G. has become quite fond of due to the high percentage of Italian-Americans in his ridiculously expensive American home? Try $13. Gouda or anything else similarly odd required a mortgaged kidney, which coincidentally could be removed next door to the grocery.

3.Paging The Owner of the 1991 Nissan Sentra...- if this statement were made on a loudspeaker in any crowded market or restaurant, literally half of the people would be forced to perk up. Not that I have anything against the 1991 Nissan Sentra at all. I give it up to my adopted countrymen who, despite a yearly climate about as hospitable as the summit of K2, eschew (for the most part) the American temptation of massive, gas-guzzling SUV's in favor of a more responsible, practical, reliable automobile. But please, Mr. Nissan Owner, TAKE THAT RIDICULOUS MUFFLER OFF OF YOUR CAR. Nearly half of the cars that cruise the streets of my home rival the decibel level of a 747 at ¾ thrust. Ever thought that those Asian kids in shitty Civics down the street who constantly drive 50 mph in 2nd gear are an annoyance? Go to hell. Try sleeping past 6am here. I need my Gringo sleep and I get precious little of it because of these douchenozzles who outfit their 90HP cars with 5 ½ inch exhaust pipes. And your three boost gauges? When I can outrun your car, you don't need a boost gauge. Or a hood tach.

4.Further Discourse Regarding Automobiles – Intentional Gringo was born, weaned, and taught to drive in a part of the United States NOTORIOUS for aggressive asshole drivers. NEVER have I ever seen more endemic disregard for traffic laws and basic human decency than I have encountered in my new home. Driving at any time of the day is like a quadriplegic trying to navigate a Turkish bazaar. Traffic lights? A suggestion. Crosswalks? A laughable anachronism. Signal lights? 10 car lengths in the rain? Buses changing three lanes with less than 200 people hanging on for dear life? No way Jo-Say. But at least drivers have the added safety of the 9 inches of reinforced aluminum of their 1991 Nissan Sentra. Pedestrians be warned: you show up in my city and you're a hunted animal. Like Ivan Drago once said, “[Y]ou will lose.” Most likely at least a toe.

These are a few of the initial differences that I have found between my American home and my new land of opportunity. I'm sure that as I get a little more hip to the ways of the people here that I will certainly find more vexing things about this place and its inhabitants, and I assure you kind reader that I will keep you abreast of these discoveries. Now I'm off to sell some plasma so that I can buy some Jarlsberg.